


Stolen Moments - A Clint/Phil Drabble Collection

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1K Drabble, Character Study, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Random & Short, Triple Drabble, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, probably not cannon-compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 12,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my Clint/Phil photoset-based drabbles and short tumblr-fics</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Lint to photo set this drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/52069695989/meljoyaz-jeremy-renners-hands-a-love)

_Sitting next to Clint on the Quinjet, Phil Coulson found himself looking at the archer’s hands as they rested relaxed on his knees, as if Clint had simply dropped them there, planning to pick them up again later. Phil could see the thick calluses on the middle and index fingers of his right hand, interrupting the long smoothness. Phil knew well the strength of those fingers, but looking, as if for the first time, he wondered suddenly if they would also touch gently, delicately. If they would glide smoothly over warm skin, if they would stroke and tease and caress._


	2. Sprung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to photoset this drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/52135641751/sprung-gifset-drabble-avengers-mcu)

_Phil looked at Clint from across the room, his head down, hands cuffed. As he watched, Clint's head came up and Phil saw his expression change from hopeless despair to the face of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar._

"Hey boss," he said with a crooked grin. 

"Come on, Barton. You're sprung." 

_Outside in the dusty parking lot of the police station, standing beside the rental car, Clint stared at the ground._

"Thanks." 

"You know I never leave anyone behind." 

"Not even me?" Clint raised his head to look Phil in the eye. 

"Especially not you." 


	3. Cooking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to photoset this drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/52231557604/cooking-gifset-drabble-avengers-mcu-clint)

_Cooking isn’t so much a hobby as a way Clint tries to pretend to be a normal person, every once in a while. He goes to a grocery store, buys ingredients, brings them home, and stands in his kitchen washing, chopping, stirring, until there is a pot of stew or chili or soup. It usually falls apart right around the time he’s laying cutlery on the table - when his actual life, a life of terrorists and bombs and sniper rifles and arrows and mad scientists and evil aliens comes crashing back in on him. But still, he keeps trying._


	4. Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to photoset this triple-drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/52240275459/raiining-snooziep-i-do-love-this-man-in)

“Hey.”

“Hey Phil… what’s up?”

“Look, I know we agreed not to do this, but… I sort of got you something.”

“Phil.”

“I know, I know, we talked about it and we agreed, but… I’m sorry.”

_Phil handed Clint a small slim box. Clint looked at him for a minute before opening it to reveal a silver chain. He lifted the chain and a slightly misshapen silver pendant dangled from the end of it. Clint took the pendant in his hand and examined it curiously. It looked like something that had once been round, but had been squashed flat…_

“Remember the vampire?”

“How could I forget the vampire, Phil?”

“It was the first time I saw you leap off a building to make a shot. My heart stopped when you jumped. My whole world stopped. Then Iron Man swooped in and caught you and put you down and you asked if you got him… Of course you did. You always do. And you were grinning and laughing. So to hide the fact that I was shaking, I walked over to where the vampire had been, and this was in the pile of dust.”

“The silver bullet.”

“I picked it up and I held it so tight… Because my world had just shifted. I’d just realised that you… mattered to me. Mattered so much that it scared me. I’m sorry it took me so long to stop being afraid. For all the time we lost that we could have had together. Anyway, I kept it. I always meant to give it to you some day - like some kind of a good luck charm, but I never found the right time. Now seemed like the right time.

_Clint slipped the chain over his neck._

“Thank you Phil.”

“You’re welcome. Happy anniversary.”


	5. Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to photoset this drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/52635099996/stormxpadme-jeremy-renner-role-appreciation)

Phil had always known that Clint had a bit of an oral fixation. He liked to put things in his mouth, hold them in his teeth, run a pencil or his pinky across his lips. Phil was used to it, and had learned to mostly ignore it, and what it did to him - especially when they were on a mission. But watching Clint as he worked undercover doing lewd things with a cigarette to avoid smoking very much of it...

"You were doing that on purpose."

"Doing what?"

"You knew I was watching."

"'Course I did. So, wanna fuck?"


	6. Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to photoset this drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/52666497895/song-gifset-drabble-avengers-mcu-clint-phil)

_“I don’t wanna close my eyes_  
 _I don’t wanna fall asleep_  
 _Cause I’d miss you babe_  
 _And I don’t wanna miss a thing.”_

“Where’d he get the sunglasses?”

“Shhh!”

Tony and Bruce saw the look in Phil’s eyes and shushed. Clint’s shirttails were hanging out and he was obviously drunk, but he could sing, and the way he stared at Phil as he…

_“I just want to hold you close_  
 _Feel your heart so close to mine_  
 _And just stay here in this moment_  
 _For the rest of time.”_

“No more team karaoke. My blood sugar levels can’t take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note:** Song lyrics to “I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” by Aerosmith._


	7. Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to photoset this drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/53034815372/hurt-gifset-drabble-avengers-mcu-clint-phil)

"Let her look at you."

"I'm fine."

"You are not fine, Barton. Let her do her job."

"Fuck!" Clint tried to duck as the medic shone a pencil flashlight into his eyes. 

"I'm putting you on concussion watch."

"Shit, no, I'm fine. Really. I don't wanna spend 48 hours in medical." Clint turned beseeching eyes on Coulson.

"I'll take him home with me and keep an eye on him."

"You know the drill?" Coulson nodded. 

"Thanks, boss."

"I hate it when you get hurt," Coulson said quietly after the medic had left.

"I know." Clint smiled, "I love you too."


	8. Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to photoset this drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/53196487460/hat-gifset-drabble-avengers-mcu-clint)

"It's for charity."

"I know, and I agreed to do it. I think it's a great idea, I even convinced Nat to wear the big poofy dress!"

"The kids need to be able to tell who the good guys and the bad guys are."

"You don't think a shiny silver badge with "Sherriff" on it will be a big enough clue for eight-year-olds? Besides, this one matches the outfit better."

"Since when do you know anything about fashion, Barton?"

"I know that black goes with everything."

"But..."

"Give up Phil, you're going to lose. I'm not wearing a white hat."


	9. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to photoset this drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/53289277944/sleep-gifset-drabble-avengers-mcu)

“It’s OK, he’s just asleep.”

Phil wasn’t surprised that Bruce had been able to read his thoughts as he rushed across the room when he spotted Clint slumped over.

“I told him I’d stay here until you were ready to leave. I think he trusts the Other Guy to look out for us both,” Bruce said, reading Phil’s mind again.

They were speaking quietly in the din of the party, but Clint shifted and mumbled and clutched the fuzzy pillow tighter.

“If it hadn’t been a kid’s charity, he would have begged off.”

“I know. Get him home to bed.”


	10. Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to the photoset this triple-drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/53370390284/book-gifset-drabble-avengers-mcu-clint-phil)

"Hey Phil, what's this?"

Clint was lounging in Phil's office after their latest undercover op, and even though he was trying to tidy up, Phil didn't kick him out because Clint was still wearing the suit. Phil didn't get many chances to ogle Clint in a suit, so he was making the most of this one.

"What? Oh, that. I picked that up as cover when I was tailing a scientist last month, in the airport."

Clint flipped the book open at random and started to read aloud,

" _'Doing distracts us from feeling. Thinking distracts us from seeing.'_ This is some deep shit, boss."

"It was the first thing that caught my eye when I needed to look like I was actually shopping for a book."

" _'We spend 99% of our energy on our outer lives and less than 1% of our energy on our inner lives. This leads to dissatisfaction, stress, illness, and even depression.'_ You feeling stressed or depressed Phil? Maybe your subconscious made you buy this book."

Clint was teasing, but Phil's practiced ear could hear the tiny bit of real concern in his voice.

"There was nothing subconscious about it, Clint. I chose it because I hadn't seen you in almost three weeks."

Clint looked up at Phil, his eyes a mixture of love and worry. Then he looked at the book's cover again.

"You bought a book with a purple cover because you missed me?" Clint was incredulous and Phil turned a little pink. "When did you turn into such a big huge sap, Coulson?"

"Probably right around the time I fell madly in love with you, Barton."

Clint swallowed around the lump in his throat and reached for Phil, tangling their fingers together.

"Love you," he whispered, pulling Phil in and kissing him hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _According my Amazon search, this book appears to not actually exist. I made up the passages from it._


	11. Sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to the photoset this drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/53954370244/sunlight-gifset-drabble-avengers-mcu)

"I can’t believe we actually did this. It’s really ours." Clint said, rolling off his back, propping himself up on an elbow, and smiling.

"We did, and it is."

"Our house. That sounds so…"

"Domestic?"

"I was going to say awesome."

Phil smiled down at Clint, lying on the hardwood floor of the empty living room, golden sunlight streaming in from the French doors behind him.

"So, are you going to come help me with the boxes, or are you going to just lie there?"

"How about you join me down here instead?" he asked, with a hopeful little grin.


	12. Undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Link to photo set this drabble is based on.](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/post/86962604669/desert-neon-uuuhshiny-well-hello-you)

"So it turns out that thing about going undercover as a dirty cop in order to nail a corrupt politician with ties to AIM, is that there are 34,499 other cops looking for you when the op goes wrong."

Clint had rehearsed that part on his way down to Phil’s apartment from the roof, so it rolled off his tongue pretty easily. Which was good, because he then got very distracted by the sight of his handler in a faded Army t-shirt and a pair of low-riding sleep pants. And tousled hair.

Phil blinked at him a couple of times, and then Clint watched, incredulous as Phil’s tongue peeped out and ran along his bottom lip.

"Uh, boss? Can I come in?" Clint asked, folding his arms across his chest to keep himself from reaching out and pushing a stray lock of Phil’s hair off his forehead.

Phil stared at him for a second more, and then grabbed him by the front of the t-shirt and hauled him into the apartment, slamming the door behind him, and shoving him roughly up against the wall.

One of Phil’s hands twisted itself further in the fabric of the grey v-neck t-shirt he was wearing under the brown leather jacket, and the other threw both deadbolt locks on the apartment door and then punched a code into the security keypad, all without looking.

"You went off the grid 67 hours ago." Phil growled, not letting up his hold on Clint’s shirt.

Clint tried to do the math and then gave up. He hadn’t had a whole lot of sleep lately, and Coulson was usually right about these things, so he just said,

"Um, yeah?"

"We’ve been searching for you everywhere. I was at the office until 4 hours ago, when Fury ordered me to go home and sleep." There was an expression in Coulson’s eyes that Clint didn’t recognize, an intensity that he didn’t understand.

"Sorry, boss. Like I said, I had, like 35,000 cops on my ass, not to mention the AIM units that the guy managed to get a message to, and I didn’t want to lead them back to Headquarters just in case the op could be salvaged somehow. Then I got blown at the first safehouse and I got a bad feeling on my way the second one so I…" Clint trailed off, because Coulson’s hand in his shirt was starting to loosen as if it was about to slip away and Clint didn’t want it to do that. "I came here, because I knew I’d be safe," he said, lifting a hand and putting it lightly on Coulson’s—on Phil’s—shoulder.

"You were out there by yourself. No back-up, no comms," Phil said, his tone softening. "I couldn’t do anything to help. I… we couldn’t find you." His voice was low and quiet, his hand now flat against Clint’s breastbone, over his heart. His heart which was beating much faster than it should. He wondered if Phil could tell.

"I’m sorry I scared you," Clint said as understanding dawned. He tightened his grip on Phil’s shoulder, wanting, but not daring to pull him in close. "I’m okay. I’m here."

"Yes." Phil said, and moved to back away.

"Phil - " Clint didn’t know what he was about to say, all he knew was that he didn’t want Phil to go. He rubbed at the bit of Phil’s collar-bone that was under his thumb. "Phil… I’ll… I’ll always find my way back," he said, the words coming out so softly that Phil wouldn’t have heard them if he wasn’t standing so close. So close that Clint could feel the warmth of his skin. "…to you," he added in a whisper.

"Clint, I - " Phil’s other hand had migrated to Clint’s waist and was resting there lightly, like a bird that would fly away if it was startled.

"Come here," Clint said, and now he did use the grip on Phil’s shoulder to draw him closer, closer so that he could raise his other hand and lay it on Phil’s cheek and then watch, wide-eyed, when Phil leaned into the touch and sighed, then turned his face to nuzzle Clint’s palm as if he couldn’t help himself. "Phil," Clint whispered, because his voice was trapped behind the lump in his throat.

Clint pulled Phil in so that they were chest-to-chest, with Phil’s hand still trapped between them, over Clint’s hammering heart. Clint leaned his forehead against Phil’s.

"Please tell me I can have this, Phil. I know I don’t deserve it, but that never stopped me from dreaming that it could be real. That you could want it too. Please say we can do this."

Phil looked into his eyes then, as they stood there, foreheads touching, holding onto each other, breathing each other’s air,

"I… I need it to be real, Clint. If we do this, it can’t just be tonight. I… I care about you too much for that, it would tear me apart. I need…”

"I’m not going anywhere, Phil," Clint murmured, kissing Phil’s forehead, his temple, the side of his face, his jaw, his neck. All the while murmuring, "Care about you so much. Respect you so much. Wanted this for so long. Never thought you’d want it too."

Phil’s lips found his. Kissing softly and gently and then asking for more, and getting it. Phil’s hand was on Clint’s jaw and Clint’s hand was in Phil’s hair. Clint was pressed up against the wall, the badge and gun he was still wearing digging into Phil’s hip. Phil didn’t seemed to mind, or even notice as he parted his lips and tasted Clint’s. Clint moaned into Phil’s mouth. Wanting, wanting…

Phil pulled back, breathing hard, and Clint could see his mind working.

"Bed, and sex, and then four hours sleep. And then we report in. No argument."

"Whatever you say, boss," Clint said with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "Whatever you say."


	13. A Birthday Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written and posted to tumblr on June 18th for (one of) Clint Barton's canonical birthday(s).

“…oh, and Happy Birthday, by the way,” says the voice in his ear.

Clint glances at the luminous dial of his watch. It’s after midnight; he’s 38 years old.

“Thanks boss, but right now I don’t rate my chances of being around long enough to blow out candles.” Clint ducks as another barrage of machine-gun fire whistles over his head.

“I’m going to get you out Barton.”

“Don’t take any stupid risks, Coulson. There’s no use both of us getting killed.”

“I never take stupid risks,” comes the dry reply, and there’s another burst of fire, aimed 30 feet to Clint’s left. Crouched down behind the wheel of a transport truck, Clint can just see the tail of Coulson’s suit jacket flap as he dives for cover behind a crate.

“That crate’s not going to last 10 seconds!” Clint yells as the bullets fly towards him again.

“Then you’ve got 9 seconds to get to better cover.” Coulson’s shooting from behind the crate to distract their attackers and draw their fire, so Clint runs for the shelter of a concrete pillar. He immediately starts to return fire, trying to draw focus away from Coulson and his flimsy protection.

“I’m heading for the compressor,” Coulson says over the hail of bullets. “Cover me.”

Clint doesn’t bother replying, he just keeps firing, trying to make each shot count as he uses almost the last of his remaining rounds to help Coulson get to better shelter.

“Okay, come now.” The voice in his ear is as calm and controlled as always. Clint runs again, bent double, serpentining as best he can. From the frequency of Coulson’s shots, he can tell his handler is low on ammo as well. Clint skids around the side of the compressor and drops onto his back, chest heaving. Coulson is on his belly and elbows, looking out between two metal struts. “How many shots do you have left?”

“Two, and then I’m down to my throwing knives.” Clint says, his eyes are on Coulson’s face, so he sees the tiny frown. “You?”

Coulson rolls over onto his back beside Clint, and ejects the clip from his weapon. The fact that Coulson is doing a visual check, hoping beyond hope that he’s miscounted, and that there’s one more bullet in the clip than he thinks there is, tells Clint exactly how much trouble they’re in.

“Also two.”

Coulson looks up at the ceiling of the dilapidated warehouse, then turns to where they can see moonlight spilling through an open door. There’s a kill zone between their current hiding place and safety. He looks back at Clint.

“They’re gonna come looking for us any minute now. Don’t see that we have any other choice.” Clint says, answering the question that Coulson doesn’t even have to ask. “You go first. I’ll cover you.”

Phil doesn’t argue. It’s going to be a miracle if either of them makes it out alive, so it doesn’t matter who goes first.

“Okay. Ready?” He starts to get to his feet.

“No, wait.” Phil freezes. “Look I… We might not…” Clint sucks in a breath. “There’s something I’ve wanted for a long time. Since we’re probably gonna die, and it’s my birthday and all…” Clint puts a hand on the back of Phil’s neck and pulls him into a kiss. It’s hard, and fierce, and desperate, and literally breathtaking. Phil is gasping when Clint releases him. “Okay,” Clint says, looking straight into Phil’s eyes. “Now go.”

Phil rolls onto his knees and bursts from their cover at a run, heart and feet pounding. He thought he had plenty to live for before, but now…


	14. Trust

"You trust him?"

"With my life." 

Natasha Romanov, a.k.a. The Black Widow, didn't look impressed with Clint's answer. "It is easy to trust another man with your life on the battlefield, when you have no choice," she said.

"With more than my life."

"What more is there?"

"With... with everything." Clint scrubbed a hand across his face. "Look, I know you have no reason to trust me except that I could have taken the shot and I didn't. No reason except that I can see where you're at, and I've been there too. No reason except that I'm asking you to. I'm asking you to trust me, and to trust him. He's the best man I've ever known. Hell, his role model growing up was Captain America, for fuck's sake!"

"Captain who?" Natasha arched an eyebrow, but she also relaxed a fraction, which Clint figured meant she believed him.

"A comic-book hero. Look, never mind that. I'm gonna call him, okay? I'm gonna call him and he'll come here and then we'll all go in together." Clint got a curt nod. He pulled out his phone and hit a speed-dial key.

"This better be good Barton," came Phil Coulson's voice over the phone.

"So, boss, you know how you trust me..."


	15. Worth

Phil Coulson wasn't used to feeling worthless, but that's how he felt right now as he stood in the bedroom of their apartment, hesitating. If he couldn't stand up for what he believed in, then what use was he, to himself or to anyone else? If he couldn't do this thing that he knew was the right thing to do, then who was he? What did he stand for, anyway?

But this was so big, it would change everything. The enormity of it simply terrified him. 

'I don't have to do it now, today,' he rationalized. 'I could wait. There's no reason I can't do it tomorrow, or next week.' Or next month. Or next year. Or never. Why bother? A dark voice cackled in his head, mocking him. 

He'd tried all his life to be a good man. Some people had called him a brave man, but right now he felt like a coward. His hands shook as he took the small box out of the drawer and put it in his pocket. He took a deep breath, then another. He knees were weak as he turned and walked into the living room where Clint was lounging on the sofa, reading something on his tablet. 

"Clint?" Phil said, and it came out as a croak. He cleared his throat. Clint looked up and put his tablet aside. Phil realized that his face must be betraying some of his feelings, because Clint's forehead went all wrinkly, the way it always did when he was concerned about something. 

"Clint, I..." Phil's throat closed up on him entirely. His stomach was churning so badly he was afraid he might throw up. Wordlessly, he sank to his knees and fumbled the box out of his pocket and open.

Clint stared down at the brushed steel band nestled in purple silk. His eyes went wide.

"Phil... what..." 

"Clinton Francis Barton," Phil said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Will you marry me?"

"Oh Phil. Yes. God yes, of course," Clint said, looking at him as if he was the most precious thing in the entire world.


	16. Swords and Secret Doors

"I still can't believe we were captured and put in an actual dungeon. In an actual castle." Clint hadn't stopped taking since they'd managed to free themselves from the antique manacles chaining them to the dungeon wall. Fortunately antique manacles were no match for a double-jointed ex-circus performer and a senior SHIELD operative who kept a lock pick glued to the sole of his foot, Harry Houdini-style. The chatter was beginning to get on Phil's nerves.

Phil's nerves were already frayed by the fact that he'd been following a buck-assed naked Clint as they both stealthily crept through the 'actual castle' in question, for the last ten minutes. And Clint's ass while he was stealthily creeping, muscles tense and flexing under perfect control as he moved surely but silently... was a sight to behold. 

"Keep it down, Barton, we don't know - " and sure enough, just then two goons with guns appeared at the other end of the corridor. 

"In here," Clint said, and darted through the nearest door, slamming it behind Phil and throwing the big iron bolt. 

"Two-hundred-year-old oak should hold them off for a couple of minutes while we find a way out of here," said Phil as he glanced around the room. Clint had already crossed to the window and opened it. He was peering out. 

"Well, I could climb down, but you'd have trouble, even if there was any way we could fit through the window, which we can't. It's much too narrow. Good for defense against enemy archers, bad for escaping. I guess we'll just have to fight our way out." Clint was scanning the room for something to use as a weapon. "Hello, come to papa," he said when he saw a sword hanging decoratively on the wall. He plucked it down and swung it a couple of times.

"I'm not sure that's going to be a whole lot of use once the two guys with guns break through the door," Coulson said drily, trying very hard not to leer openly at the sight of a naked Clint Barton displaying his prowess with an edged weapon.

"The Swordsman trained me way better than that, boss. But if you have another idea, I'm all for it."

"That wall," Phil pointed to the wall behind the big, canopied, four-poster bed.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Use those eagle-eyes of yours, and find a stone that doesn't look right."

"Hawk, not eagle," muttered Clint, but he knew Coulson well enough to follow the instruction without asking why. "Here, this one," he said, pointing at a oblong grey rock that looked like all the others.

Phil nodded and put his palm flat on the stone, and then pressed. Sure enough there was a muffled 'click' and a wardrobe started to swivel away from the wall to reveal a dark hole.

"Come on." Phil turned to see why Clint wasn't following him. 

"How?" Clint was staring at him with a mixture of admiration and disbelief.

"Secret doors are... a thing for me, okay?" Phil had the decency to blush just a little. "Come on, if you don't want to get shot while carrying a sword buck naked."

"Better than getting shot buck naked while not carrying a sword," Clint muttered, and followed Phil into the tunnel.


	17. In From the Cold

"Okay, this looks b-b-b-bad."

Though he wouldn't say so, Phil Coulson had to agree. They'd spent the last two hours going over every square inch of their prison, looking for any weakness, any flaw, any tiny thing that would enable them to escape, and found nothing. 

They were in a refrigerated shipping container, securely locked from the outside. Clint had ripped out two of his fingernails trying to pry open the vent through which cold air was blasting. 

"Come here," Phil said, leading the way to the corner of the container near the door, furthest from the blast of cold air, where it might be minutely warmer. "We should, ah... huddle together for warmth."

"Huddle. Right." Clint sat down next to Phil and then looked at him with a 'now what?' expression. Much as he'd love the excuse to touch Phil under just about any other circumstances, he wasn't going to be presumptuous. Not now.

"Put your arms around me, under my jacket, then bring your knees up as close to your chest as you can."

"You s-s-s-sound like you've d-d-d-done this before," Clint said through chattering teeth as he followed Phil's instructions. 

"Army Ranger winter survival training," Phil said, and Clint nodded. He scooched in a little closer and tightened his hold. If this was the only chance he was ever going to get to hold Phil in his arms, he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he was conscious, which he figured wouldn't be all that long.

Phil felt Clint's arms tighten around him and swallowed the lump in his throat. He'd wanted this for so long, only to have it now, when there was no hope, no chance. Maybe he should say something - let Clint know how he felt. How he had felt for a long, long time. 

"Phil?" Clint said, managing not to stammer or slur.

"Yes?"

"T-t-t-talk to me? I... Things are... Just talk to me?" Clint couldn't bring himself to say that if he was going to die, then the last thing he wanted to hear was Phil's voice. Because Phil's voice meant safety, home, and love to him.

"I'm so very glad I met you," Phil said, leaning his head against Clint's shoulder and baring one small corner of his heart. "So glad we became friends. I feel privileged to have had you in my life." Phil stumbled badly on the word 'privileged' and cold fear gripped Clint. He was okay with dying, he figured he'd been due for a while. But Phil dying too, that wasn't right. 

"Phil," he said, but nothing else would come. Words had never been Clint's strong suit. Especially words about feelings. But if this was his last chance, then he had to at least try. "Phil, I... You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Ever. In my whole life." It wasn't enough. No words would ever be enough. But there were four more he could say. "I love you Phil."

Phil moved, lifting his head off Clint's shoulder, and for a second Clint was afraid that he'd gone too far, but then he felt cold fingers on his cheek. Phil's eyes were staring into his.

"I wish I'd had the courage to say this sooner. I love you too, Clint Barton. With all my heart." For a moment everything was still and silent.

"Can I kiss you?" Clint asked. It would be nice to have that to go out on.

"Yes." Phil was already leaning in. His lips were cold, but soft and the kiss was gentle and sweet. 

"Never gonna let you go," Clint said softly, tightening his arms around Phil again, and closing his eyes. Phil put his head back down on Clint's shoulder, and that was the last thing he knew until a loud banging roused him. The door of the container swung open and he opened his eyes to look into Natasha's.

"They're here, they're alive, get blankets," she called over her shoulder. "Sir, you're going to be just fine, can you move? Clint, wake up." 

Medics ran up with blankets and stretchers and IVs. In the bustle of getting them wrapped up warmly and out of the container, Phil tucked his mouth next to Clint's ear for a second.

"Never letting you go, either."


	18. Holiday

Clint knew it was going to take Phil a while to unwind, it always did. But this was the first vacation they'd had together in... No, it was the first actual vacation they'd ever had together, if you didn't count 'an extra 36 hours in the safehouse at the end of the op because we earned it for saving the world again.'

So Clint wanted to start having fun, like right now. Because despite Fury's (and Nat's, who he trusted more) assurances that their phones absolutely would not ring, Clint wouldn't put it past the universe to decide to implode tomorrow. Or, you know, later this afternoon.

He knew he had to tread carefully. His usual antics would just annoy Phil until he'd had a chance to shake off 'Agent Coulson' and relax into 'Phil'. How long that took tended to depend on how much stress Phil had been under lately, and considering that this vacation was in part mandated by Phil's cardiologist...

Clint sighed. Maybe if he eased into it gently, with some... planning! Phil liked things to be planned and organized, so he could plan for them to have fun, later this afternoon, or tomorrow. Clint grabbed the brochure listing the resort's activity schedule.

"Hey Phil, what do you think of going on a snorkeling excursion tomorrow?"

Phil was in the bathroom, showering and shaving after their long flight. Clint had already had his turn and was lounging on the bed in a towel, feet hanging off one end, elbows propping his torso up with the brochure spread out in front of him.

"I didn't realize you knew how to snorkel," Phil's voice drifted in from the bathroom.

"I don't, but I could learn, I mean, how hard can it be?"

"If you like," came Phil's non-committal reply, and Clint scanned the activity schedule for something else.

"Okay, well how about entering the beach volleyball tournament? We'd wipe the court with the competition for sure!" 

"I dunno, I was kind of thinking it would be nice just to relax and spend time with you for a bit."

"Yeah, sure Phil, that'd be great." Clint frowned and shoved the brochure off the bed. He rolled over and folded his arms under his head and stared at up at the ceiling until the whirling blades of the overhead fan started to make him dizzy so he closed his eyes. He was dimly aware that the sound of running water had stopped a few minutes ago, and was about to open his eyes to see what Phil was up to when a large, heavy, warm weight landed on top of him, knocking his breath out. 

"Phil, what the?" Clint opened his eyes to see a naked Phil Coulson straddling his hips and grinning. The next thing he knew, Phil had both his wrists pinned in one strong hand and was leaning over him, alternately nipping at his earlobe and whispering into his ear.

"I don't want to go snorkeling or play volleyball. I thought we could find some other way to enjoy ourselves. Seeing as how we're both freshly showered and shaved and clean." Phil's tone as he said 'clean' made it perfectly clear that they wouldn't be staying that way for long. Phil nipped his earlobe again, and tightened his grip on Clint's wrists as Clint tried to squirm out of his grasp.

"Nope, I have you just where I want you, and I think I'll keep you here a while. There's all sorts of fun things I want to do with you."

"Oh, like what?" Clint was already breathless.

"Well, first I thought I'd play with this for a while," Phil said, grinning even more widely as he reached under Clint's towel.


	19. The Fourth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: mention of PTSD in this story.

"Sir, Agent Barton is at the door, requesting entrance."

Phil Coulson weighed up Clint's reaction to what he would see if Phil let him in, versus how worried Clint would be if he didn't, and sighed.

"Let him in please, JARVIS. Thank you."

"My pleasure sir."

The large automatic door whooshed quietly open, to reveal a worried-looking Clint Barton.

"Come in so JARVIS can close the door behind you, Clint."

"Are you okay Phil?" Clint was approaching slowly, hesitantly.

"I'm fine, Clint. Come sit down."

Clint looked dubious, but sat next to Phil on the floor, his back against the padded wall of the Hulk Room. 

"Stop looking so worried, Clint, please. I'm fine, really."

"You're fine. That's why you're down here in the sub-basement with a bottle of whiskey for company. Is this about the fireworks? You've never had a problem with explosions or loud noises before. What's going on, Phil?"

Clint finally ran out of words and sat there, looking unhappily at his partner of almost-two-years-if-we-don't-count-the-time-Phil-spent-dead.

"Yes, it's about the fireworks. No, I don't have a problem with explosions or other loud noises in general. Yes, though you didn't ask, I know you're thinking it, it is a PTSD thing. Sort of." Phil let his head fall back against the padded wall behind him. "It's not all fireworks. Just one. There's one that sounds exactly like an old WW2 Soviet mortar round. The rebels in Afghanistan captured a lot of them, and used them on our troops." Phil sighed and took a small sip from the tumbler of whiskey that was in his hand. Clint's eyes followed his movement.

"My unit was pinned down by one for three days. We were in the mountains. Air support couldn't get to us, the rebel position was too well defended. Almost half my unit died. All of us took shrapnel. I was lucky."

"The scar on your left calf?" Clint asked quietly. Phil had mentioned, once, that he'd gotten that scar while he was serving in Afghanistan.

Phil nodded. 

"I don't freak out, or have flashbacks or anything dramatic like that. I just... prefer not to hear that particular noise. And the reason I prefer not to hear that particular noise reminds me of the friends I lost. And that's what this is about," he said, gesturing with the glass. "Nothing more, I promise."

"Okay, Phil." Clint was quiet for a while. "Do you want me to go?"

"Not unless you want to. I should have told you... I'm sorry. I was... embarrassed."

Clint nodded. That, he could totally understand. 

"I'd like to stay, if you're sure you want me to."

Phil reached out and covered one of Clint's hands with his. 

"I'm sure."


	20. Adjustments

"Phil, I said I was sorry." 

Phil didn't say anything, he just kept staring at the TV, remote in hand, scrolling through a list of _Supernanny_ episodes he'd already seen several times. 

"What, you're not even talking to me now? Dammit, I said I was sorry for calling you a 'tight-assed control freak'. 

Phil's mouth hardened into a tight line.

"Besides, you should be apologizing too." That got a response, if you could call Phil turning his head and fixing Clint with a bland stare a response.

"The silent treatment is kinda juvenile, dont'cha think?"

Phil turned back to the TV and picked an episode.

Clint was upset. More than that, he was angry. But most of all he was upset. He didn't deal well with conflict, and Phil knew that. Most of the time they avoided having arguments or fights; Phil was pretty good at heading them off with a calm discussion before the happened, and Clint was starting to learn how to do that, too. But this one had blindsided both of them.

One minute Clint was standing in the bathroom, putting a little gel in his hair, and the next minute Phil was going off on him for not knowing how to live like a human being. Okay, so Phil hadn't actually used those words, but that had been the gist of 'There are certain things that most people find are appropriate, especially when sharing living space with other people.' The whole thing had made Clint feel about two feet tall, and now, on top of it all, Phil wasn't talking to him. Well, fine. He wasn't going to talk to Phil, either. 

Clint went into the bedroom, and very carefully didn't slam the door. Hmmph! Who was behaving like an adult now? Clint didn't feel like one, though. He felt like a scared little kid. He threw himself down on the bed and absolutely did not cry.

Two episodes of _Supernanny_ later, Phil turned off the TV and came quietly into the bedroom. He sat on the bed next to Clint.

"I'm sorry," he said. Clint didn't answer. Let Phil see what it felt like. "You're right, I should apologize too. I shouldn't have said what I said. I'm sorry, Clint." 

When he didn't get a reply, Phil sighed. 

"You have every right to be upset with me. Not talking to you was juvenile. I just... I was sure that anything that came out of my mouth was just going to make it worse, and I didn't want that. I didn't want to fight in the first place. Especially not about something as stupid as toothpaste. I didn't... I don't want you to feel like... Clint I love you."

Clint rolled over and looked up at Phil. He couldn't not say it back. They never didn't say it back. It was like, a rule or something. And Phil was looking down at him, with his eyes all sad, and a bit red, as if Phil had maybe cried a little too.

"I love you too," Clint said quietly. "I'll try to remember to squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom."

"And I'll try not to be such a tight-assed control freak about the toothpaste," Phil said with a small smile.

"C'mere," Clint said, opening up his arms so that Phil could snuggle into them. "I hate it when we fight," he said, once Phil was curled up comfortably with his head on Clint's shoulder.

"I know. I hate it too."

"Let's not anymore, okay?"

"Okay," Phil said, and held on tight.


	21. Wings

Phil woke up with something tickling his nose. He opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times to orient himself. He was lying in bed with Clint. He was on his back, and Clint was snuggled up to his side with one arm and one leg draped over him. What had tickled Phil's nose where the small soft feathers on the underside of Clint's wings.

Working for SHIELD, Phil had seen a lot of strange things, so he wasn't shocked when one day, about two years after he'd become Clint Barton's handler, at the end of a long, difficult op where they'd both been captured and tortured and had only made it out by the skin of their teeth, Clint had sat down next to him on the dilapidated sofa of the safehouse and said, "Boss, there's something I need to tell you. And, um... show you."

Clint had told him a long, somewhat disjointed story about the fortune teller at the circus and his nickname and falling off the trapeze bar and his thirteenth birthday. And then he'd stripped off his t-shirt and spread his wings.

Phil's instinct had been, of course, to reach out and touch, to convince himself it was real. The puff of air that swept his face as Clint drew his wings back, just out of Phil's reach, convinced him plenty. He apologized. Clint blushed and stammered.

"Sorry... sorry. Habit. I... I'm not used to... I... here. It's okay." Clint's wings canted forward, back into Phil's reach.

"It's fine, Clint. I don't need to touch to believe they're real."

"I... Phil I want you to. I want you to not just believe, but to really know that they're real." 

"Okay," Phil said softly and reached out and slowly, carefully ran the backs of his fingers along the soft feathers. Clint shivered a little. 

"It's, uh... they're sensitive."

Phil nodded and dropped his hand. 

"You... you won't tell anyone, right? I just... I wanted you to know. I... you saved my life back there." Clint ducked his head, embarrassed.

"And you saved mine. Your secret is safe with me, Clint. I promise."

That had been almost three years ago, and since then Phil and Clint had grown closer and closer until one day, again, after a particularly bad op, they'd ended up in each other's arms, and then in Phil's bed. 

Clint's wing was curved up over his head like a canopy, and Phil could just see the glimmers of daylight filtering through the copper-and-gold feathers. Phil reached up and gently smoothed the small feathers away from his nose. He hadn't touched Clint's wings since the day Clint had first revealed them, in fact he'd only seen them a couple of times since. The small, downy feathers on the inside surface of the wing were incredibly soft, and Phil couldn't stop stroking them. 

Beside him, Clint shifted, and woke up. 

"So, uh... that doesn't usually happen," Clint said quietly, tensing a little, but not moving. 

"No?" Phil turned his head to look into Clint's eyes, and stilled his hand.

"You... you don't have to stop. It... uh... it feels nice."

Phil smiled and started stroking the feathers again. 

"Normally I have to concentrate for them to appear, but sometimes I used to wake up with them wrapped around me, usually because I'd fallen asleep somewhere I didn't feel safe."

Phil's face fell and the hand that was stroking Clint's feathers slowed.

"No... it's not... I think I was trying to protect you. Protect us both, in my sleep. I... would you rather I... uh... put them away?"

"Not if you don't want to," Phil was smiling now, and stroking lightly again. 

"I... that feels really, really nice." Clint blushed a little as it became obvious to both of them exactly how 'nice' it felt.

"Come here," Phil said, reaching for Clint's arm and tugging. Clint shifted until he was lying on top of Phil, supporting himself on his elbows, with his wings spread out over them both. 

"Now," Phil said, reaching up to bury both his hands in the soft feathers, "show me exactly how nice it feels."

Clint did.


	22. Friends

"Don't forget, we're meeting up at six."

"Um, yeah. Right." Damn, thought Clint. He'd forgotten about a meeting. Or a briefing. Or something. He'd checked his calendar this morning, he knew he had, because it had reminded him that today was his birthday. His 35th birthday, and he had absolutely zero plans to celebrate. 

He'd managed to actually miss his birthday for the years he'd been working as a hired gun, before he joined SHIELD, by staying away from calendars in the middle of June, and ignoring the actual date. But here at SHIELD with their schedules and appointments and time-management software, he was acutely aware of what day it was. 

But somehow he'd missed an entry on his calendar, because Coulson was saying,

"I thought we'd do it at The Waterfront. Their food is pretty good and they have a nice selection of beer on tap."

"Um, yeah. Great." Coulson was talking like there was something he was supposed to know about this meeting, or briefing, or whatever it was. Maybe he should just fess up and ask, and look like an idiot. No, he'd take five minutes to run back to his quarters and check the meeting software again, and if there was nothing there, he could blame a computer glitch. Totally not his fault.

And, hey, come to think of it, having a meeting (or briefing or whatever) at six tonight was probably a good thing. If it went long, that meant he would be spending less time moping in his quarters by himself on his birthday. Sure, he could go out to a bar or something, but who wanted to go out alone like a looser? 

"Diaz and Evans are going to be there, and Jasper, and some of the guys from R&D, I'm not quite sure how many." If Coulson kept on about this meeting, Clint was going to have to admit that he had no idea what Coulson was talking about. 

'Diaz and Evans means it's a sniper op, and the guys from R&D means I'll probably need some new trick arrows for it. Sitwell means it's a big op, if Coulson needs his help.' Clint nodded and tried to look like he knew what the fuck was going on.

"Great, see you there." Coulson gave him a small smile, and headed for his office. Clint shook his head. 'How do I get myself into these messes?' he wondered.

As it turned out, he didn't have five spare minutes until five-thirty that afternoon. He was tapped to help with some self-defense training for junior agents at the last minute, and by the time he made it back to his quarters he desperately needed a shower and a change of clothes. His uniforms were all in pretty bad shape, and besides, the meeting (or briefing, or whatever it was, dammit) was off base, at a civilian pub, so it would probably be okay for him to wear jeans. He switched on his computer while he toweled off, looking for anything on his calendar about the meeting, but there was nothing. 'Computer glitch,' he muttered to himself while he put on his newest, cleanest pair of jeans (Coulson and Sitwell would be in suits, after all, and the R&D gang tended to chinos and button-downs, so he didn't want to look too scruffy sitting next to them) and a clean t-shirt. He even styled his hair a little.

'Yeah,' he thought. 'Glad to be going to a meeting on your birthday so you can ignore the fact that you don't have any actual friends.' There were people at SHIELD he was friendly with, a few of his fellow snipers, some of the guys who designed his trick arrows, and Coulson of course. But he'd never really learned how to make friends as an adult. Sure, he went out for a beer sometimes after an op, or shared a pizza in the lounge, or even caught a movie or a baseball or hockey game when someone had a spare ticket, but that wasn't the same as having actual friends, the kind you could call up and say, 'Hey, it's my birthday, let's go out!'

Clint sighed, and headed for the pub. When he got there, just a few minutes late, there were a whole bunch of people sitting around a few tables that had been pulled together. Coulson stood up as he arrived, and ushered him into the chair that had obviously been kept free for him. 

"We've already ordered a bunch of party platters," Coulson said, gesturing at the big baskets of wings and fries and potato skins and pizza poppers on the table. "So help yourself, and here," Coulson poured a glass of beer from a pitcher and handed it to him.

Clint took the beer looking confused. Meetings (or briefings, or whatever) sometimes involved food, but didn't usually include beer. Coulson clapped him on the shoulder and raised his own glass. The people around the table followed suit. 

"Happy Birthday, Clint," Coulson said with a big smile. "May you have many more years on the right side of the dirt." There was a chorus of 'Hear hear,' and 'Happy Birthday,' and 'L'chaim' from one of the R&D guys. Clint looked around, stunned. This wasn't a meeting. Or a briefing. Or whatever. It was his birthday party. 

"Thanks," he said with a grin so wide he thought his face would split. "Thanks a lot."


	23. Worth

Clint collapsed, still breathing heavily, into the pillows. The sex had been fantastic. And a long time coming.

The tension had been simmering between him and Phil had for quite a while, and eventually neither of them could ignore it. Clint no longer bothered to pretend that he wasn't staring at Phil's hands during meetings, wondering what they would feel like on his skin. Phil had started 'happening' to have business at the range when Clint was shooting more and more often. And after their last couple of missions where they'd pulled each other's asses out of the fire, things had reached the boiling point.

So when Clint had tossed his mission report onto Phil's desk, and Phil had looked up at him and licked his lips before asking, "Uh, do you want to grab some pizza and beer at my place? We could... watch a movie or something?" Clint was pretty sure they'd never get to the movie.

As it turned out, they didn't even get to the pizza & beer. As soon as Phil had locked the apartment door behind them, he'd stared at Clint for a full sixty seconds, and then said, "Unless you say 'no,' I'm going to kiss you now." 

Clint hadn't said 'no'.

Now he was lying, gasping, sweaty and sated in Phil's bed, wondering how long he had before the awkwardness set in. 

"Don't move," Phil said, planting a kiss on his temple. "Stay right here. I'll be right back." Phil levered himself out of bed with a grunt, and disappeared towards the bathroom. Sure enough, Clint heard water running. Two minutes later, Phil was back, carrying a towel. Phil climbed onto the bed beside him and slowly wiped the mess off Clint's stomach and chest. The towel was warm. And soft. And moving down to wipe around his dick and balls and...

"Phil?" 

"I'm sorry, are you sore?" Phil's eyes were full of concern and the soft, warm, wet towel that was gently swabbing between his ass cheeks stilled.

"No, no I'm fine." Clint didn't know how to ask why Phil was cleaning him up.

"Good," Phil said, with a sweet smile, "I'd hate to think that I hurt you." Phil went back to the wiping, slowly and gently and thoroughly, before dropping the towel over the side of the bed. 

"Uh, thanks." Clint figured that was his cue to go. He started to slide away from Phil, but was stopped by a warm hand on his arm.

"Where are you going?" Phil's eyes now looked a little sad. 

"I, uh..." Clint glanced towards where his pants were in a heap on the floor.

"Stay?" Phil asked, his thumb rubbing slowly back and forth on Clint's bicep. "Please?"

"Why?" It was out of Clint's mouth before he could stop it. He didn't understand what was going on. You had sex, and then you left, that was the way it worked. He knew that much, at least. 

"Because I care about you, Clint. This was more than just sex for me. I want... I'd like..." Phil actually blushed and looked down. Clint was getting more uncomfortable by the second. 

"I'll stay," he said, so that Phil would stop fumbling for words. Phil looked up and smiled at him, and then leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was warm and soft and... nice. 

"Good," Phil said when their lips parted. "Great. I'll just get the lights." He got up again and left the room for a minute. Clint lay back with his arms behind his head, a knot of confusion and worry and something else... something that felt strange and new in his chest. Phil reappeared at the bedroom door.

"Do you prefer to sleep with he door open of closed?" Phil asked.

"Uh, closed I guess."

"Good, me too." Phil closed the door and was about to get back into bed when he stopped and opened a drawer. He dropped a spare blanket at the foot of the bed.

"Just in case you get cold during the night," Phil said, then climbed into bed.

"Phil, why..." Clint trailed off.

"Why what?"

"Why are you being so nice to me? I'm not..." Clint trailed off as Phil looked at him. Phil put a hand to the side of his face, moved in close and kissed him again, softly and sweetly.

"You're not what, Clint? Not worth it?" Phil whispered, their foreheads touching and Phil staring deep into his eyes. Clint didn't have to say anything.

"You're worth it to me. I want us to be together, Clint. In a relationship. I care about you a great deal, and I was hoping you felt the same about me."

"I... do. Of course I care about you, Phil. Hell, I guess I'm already half-way in love with you. I just... you're sure? That you want to be with me?"

"I'm sure." Another one of those soft, sweet kisses. "Very, very sure. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

"Good, now go to sleep. I'm making you blueberry pancakes for breakfast in the morning."


	24. To His Credit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet from a Tumblr prompt

He’d been on the run for three days, not knowing who was after him or who he could trust. He’d made it out of Croatia, through Slovenia and into Italy. Where he would be somewhat more conspicuous, but also on more familiar territory. In his time with Strike Team Delta, he and Phil and Nat had worked in every corner of Europe, and Italy three of four times, including two separate ops in Florence, of all places, which was where he was headed now. If he made it there without being killed or captured, he had a chance... 

Because the second time he’d worked in Florence, he’d stashed a cache there. It had clothes and weapons and papers and money. If he could get to it, he’d have the supplies he needed to go to ground and start figuring out what the hell was going on. Sitting shivering in the corner of an empty shed, he remembered lying on the sofa in Coulson’s office, trying out cover identities.

“How about ‘Frank Benton’,” he’d asked.

“Benton’s good, but will you be able to remember to answer to Frank?”

“Maybe?”

“Go with Cliff instead,” Phil had suggested.

“It’s not too close?”

“If you’re in a position where you need to use this cover, Clint, matching initials are going to be the least of your worries.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay, then Cliff Benton it is. Do I get the papers through SHIELD, or what?”

Phil had looked at him then, and slowly shaken his head. “No, for an emergency cover like this, we keep it off even SHIELD’s radar, just in case. I know a guy.”

“Of course you do.” Clint had laughed at the time, but inside he’d felt the same warm glow that appeared every time Phil did something badass or superbly competent.

And a couple of weeks later, over pizza and beer and Supernanny at his apartment, Phil had handed him a plain brown envelope full of documents: passport, driving license, even a credit card. He’d run his thumb over the embossed lettering that spelled out ‘Cliff Benton’.

Clint pulled his tattered jacket more tightly around himself and smiled at the memory.

“Wherever you are, Phil,” he said quietly into the night, “I’m coming.”


	25. A Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet from a Tumblr prompt

"Hi, uh, Coulson. Uh, can I talk to you about something?" Phil looked up to see Clint Barton standing nervously in the doorway of his office.

"Of course, come in, sit down." 

When Barton came in, but made no move to sit down, Phil slid his keyboard tray away and folded his hands on his desk. He smiled his best 'mild-mannered accountant' smile, and said, "What can I do for you?"

"I, uh. Well you said... you said that if there was anything I was having problems with, I should come to you."

"That's right, as your handler, it's my job to help you do yours. What can I do to help?"

"I, uh, got this. From HR I guess?"

Phil took the piece of paper from him and looked at it. It was a form 325-A, "Invitation to Apply for Advancement." Phil nodded.

"Right, you've been a Level 2 agent for 18 months, right?"

"I guess."

"And during that time you've been assigned to several missions and completed them successfully, and you haven't been written up for any major breach of conduct or discipline. So," Phil continued, rather than letting Clint interrupt, "you've been invited to apply to become a Level 3 agent."

"Yeah, I, uh, I got that from what it said," Clint gestured at the form which now sat on Phil's desk.

"Okay, then how can I help?"

"Do I gotta?"

"Do you have to apply for advancement? No, not unless you want to. But it does have advantages."

"Like what?"

"Well, you get a higher security clearance, which means you can go on more interesting missions. You also would be more involved in the planning stages of some missions," Phil said, knowing full well that dangling the chance being in on the planning was the best way to hook Clint.

"Yeah, okay, that sounds good, but..."

"But what?"

"Well I asked around, and people said there's a test."

"Ah, yes. One part of the advancement to Level Three is a written exam."

"I don't do so good on tests," Clint said in a small, quiet voice.

"Clint, you're as smart and as capable as any other agent, you know that, right?" Phil said gently, hoping that he wasn't coming across as condescending.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean it's not that I think I'm too dumb to take the test, or to be a Level 3 Agent, I know I'm not."

"Then what is it?"

"Well, you know I never went to school much. I do okay writing my mission reports because you showed me how and I use the spell-check and everything, but..." Clint trailed off miserably, looking at the floor.

"You're concerned about having to take a written test."

"Yeah."

"Would you like me to help you practice?"

"Isn't that against the rules?"

"Well, I can't tell you what the questions are going to be, not that I'd know, they change them every year," Phil said, "but I can tell you what some of them might be about, in general, and we can get some of the old tests out of the library and you can practice on them."

"You... we can do that?"

"Hundreds of thousands of students get into college every year by practicing on old SAT tests."

"Huh. Uh, thanks. For helping me, I mean."

"You're welcome. How about we start tomorrow at lunchtime?"

"Cool. You bring the practice tests and I'll bring danishes from that place you like on 7th Ave."

"You don't need to do that, Clint."

"I know, but I want to." Clint shot him a brilliant smile, and Phil felt his heart do a flip-flop. 

'Uh-oh,' he thought. 'I think I might be in very big trouble.'


	26. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet from a Tumblr prompt

"I don't know what to tell you, pal, except that you're totally screwed," Jasper said, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling of Phil's office.

"I knew that already. I'm looking for advice, here."

"Well, what does Fury say?"

"I, er..." Phil blushed a little, and looked down at his desk.

"You haven't told him."

"Not yet."

"Man-oh-man. You are so, totally, completely screwed!"

"Quit looking so damn gleeful about it. It's not fucking funny. This is my life we're talking about. And my job, and... well everything."

"I know. That's why you're screwed. Look, Phil. You didn't tell me this whole story because you want my advice. You told me this whole story so that I could tell you to get your head out of you ass and do what needs to be done. You know it, I know it, so quit being a pansy and do it."

"What if I can't?"

"Can't? The Phillip J. Coulson I know doesn't know the meaning of the word 'can't.' The Phillip J. Coulson I know grabs 'can't' by the balls and - " Jasper dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"What?" Phil asked sharply. He was getting increasingly annoyed.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just that I had a sudden mental image of you, and... you don't want to know. Anyway. Man up, Phil, and do it. You want to. He wants you to. Put everyone out of their misery and go do it."

"Easy for you to say. How do I... how do I even broach the subject? 'Hi Clint, I heard a rumor that you're into me, if it's true, would you like to have dinner with me?' "

"Yeah, I wouldn't mention the rumor bit, not terribly romantic. And is Barton really the dinner kind of guy? He strikes me more as the adrenalin-fueled post-mission yay-we-didn't-die barn-burning sex type."

Phil dropped his head into his hands and massaged his temples with his fingers. "Get out," he said.

"Hey, you asked for my help. I'm only trying to - "

"Get out of my office."

Jasper laughed, but climbed off the sofa and headed for the door. "Seriously though, Phil, as your friend? Do it soon. Today. You two are good together already, anyone who knows you can see that. Don't let the chance slip away."

Phil thought about Jasper's words for a couple of minutes and then blew out his breath and straightened his shoulders. He picked up his phone and dialed Clint's number.

"Hi, it's Phil. Do you have plans for lunch? I thought we could go grab something at that diner that does the triple-decker club sandwiches? Yeah. Sure, sounds good. Meet you then."

Phil's hands were shaking slightly when he put the phone back down. 

"Well," he said to the empty room as he slipped his jacket on and straightened his tie. "Here goes everything."


	27. Lucky Break

There was clatter a from behind him, and then the distinctive sound of Lucky's nails on the hardwood floor of Clint's loft. Clint pushed himself up on his elbows and peered over the back of the sofa. Lucky was lying down now, his leash in his mouth, staring mournfully at the door.

"Lucky, we just went out, like two hours ago. You can't need to go again." 

Lucky paid no attention to him, and kept staring at the door.

"I know, boy, I'm bored too. But these cracked ribs aren't gonna heal if I keep going up and down the stairs with you. Twice a day for the next week, that's it. I promised the docs." Clint sighed. "More importantly, I promised Phil."

Lucky whined.

"Now, don't you start. He came and walked you while I was laid up in Medical, but I'm back now, so you'll have to make do with me." Clint dropped his head back down on the sofa cushions and picked his tablet up off the floor. 

He'd finished eight more levels of Angry Birds when Lucky jumped up onto the sofa, dragging something with him. 

"Hey! Where did you get that? Give it back!" His ribs protested as he wrestled the grey sweatshirt out of Lucky's grasp, being careful not to tear it. The SHIELD logo was faded across the front, and it had a bloodstain on the sleeve. Clint held it protectively to his chest. Lucky whined again and flopped down with his chin on Clint's knee. 

The sweatshirt was Phil's. He'd taken it off and wrapped it around Clint's shoulders when he got hurt on a mission a year ago. Clint had... forgotten to return it. He kept it in a box in the bottom of his closet and only took it out to cuddle when he'd had a particularly bad nightmare. It still smelled of Phil's aftershave, which was no doubt how Lucky had found it.

"Look, I miss him too, but he's busy. He has stuff to do. Important work stuff."

Lucky whined again and crawled partway up Clint's body to try to get his nose closer to the sweatshirt.

"No. Mine." Clint said, then "I wish he was. I wish..." He thought for a moment and then picked up his phone.

"Clint, are you okay?" was the first thing Phil said when he answered.

"I'm fine. But, uh, I was wondering if you might have time to stop by later. I, uh, I forgot my arm-guard and I was hoping maybe you could bring it over. If you aren't too busy."

"Why do you need you arm guard? You're supposed to be resting."

"I, uh, wanted to try to, uh, modify it. Make it, uh, lighter. I figured now was a good time to work on that, while I'm laid up." Clint wasn't lying—quite. He was always tweaking his gear, making little adjustments to his quiver, and trying out new shooting gloves.

"Okay, Clint. I'll stop by tonight, on my way home."

"That would be really great, thanks." Clint wondered if Phil could tell he was blushing over the phone.

"Anytime."

Clint dropped his phone on the table and gave Lucky a stern look. "There. Happy now?" 

Lucky stood up and stretched, then turned around three times, curled himself into a ball at the far end of the sofa, and closed his eyes.

"You know that's not such a bad idea." Clint never slept well while he was in medical. He curled up on his side with the sweatshirt as a pillow. 

It was dark in his apartment when he woke up. He sat up too quickly and his ribs protested, making him wince. Lucky jumped off the sofa and trotted over to the door. 

"Yeah, okay. Just a minute, boy," Clint said, levering himself off the sofa. He was halfway to the door when there was a knock. "Shit. Phil." 

Clint ran his hand through his hair, then shrugged. Phil had seen him looking way worse. He opened the door, and Lucky jumped up on Phil and tried to lick his face.

"Lucky, down," Clint said. "Sorry, I think he missed you."

Phil smiled, and Clint's stomach did a flip-flop. "He probably just thinks I'm here to take him for his walk," Phil said.

"Yeah, I was supposed to take him out an hour ago, but I fell asleep on the sofa."

"Well then, why don't we both take him?" Phil smiled again and reached down to scratch behind Lucky's ears. Clint felt an irrational stab of jealousy. 

"Are you sure? I mean, you probably have stuff to do."

"Nothing important. I was going to get some take-out for dinner on the way home and then watch TV."

"You could, that is, we could, uh, do that? Together? After the walk, I mean? If you want?" Clint felt his ears turning pink and he waited for Phil to make some excuse and turn him down.

"That sounds really nice." Phil’s smile was soft and warm.

"It does? I mean, uh, great. Uh, Lucky's maybe not the only one who missed you," Clint said, somehow finding the courage to look Phil in the eye as he said it.

"Well then, I'll have come over more often." Phil said, taking Lucky's leash in one hand, and threading the fingers of his other through Clint's. "Ready to go?"

Clint gave him a brilliant smile. "Absolutely."


	28. Mac & Cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shazrolane prompted me "Mac & Cheese".

The last thing Phil expected to find when he got back to his apartment after the op was Clint curled up in the corner of his sofa with a bowl of Mac & Cheese clasped between his knees and his chest, spoon in one hand and TV remote in the other.

Phil wasn’t sure what to say, so he didn’t say anything as he shut the door behind himself, armed the alarms, and took off his shoes, jacket, and tie, all on automatic pilot. He saw Clint flicking quick glances at him, and noticed how Clint seemed to curl into himself even more whenever Phil looked in his direction. To give himself more time to think, Phil headed for the bedroom and changed out of his suit and into a pair of Captain America sweatpants and a one of his faded old Army rangers t-shirts. 

One the one hand, he was happy that Clint had chosen to come here when there was obviously something wrong. On the other hand, there was something pretty badly wrong, and Phil had no idea what it might be. The op had gone smoothly: Clint had successfully put the mark down with a tranq gun, and there had been no injuries to anyone on the team. Clint had seemed a little distracted during debrief, but Phil had put that down to the debrief actually having been pretty boring. There were only so many ways to say “It all went right for once.”

Phil went to the kitchen and got himself a beer. There was a pot soaking in the sink and a tell-tale sprinkle of orange powder on the counter by the stove, but apart from that all was in order. Phil got himself a beer and Clint a bottle of water. It had been a while since he’d had Mac & Cheese out of a box, but he remembered it being really salty.

He headed back to the living room and, without sparing Clint so much as a glance, flopped down on the sofa. He put the water on Clint’s side of the coffee table and took a pull on his beer.

"Tuna casserole day at the caf?” he asked, indicating the bowl in Clint’s hands with the butt of his bottle.

“I, uh, dunno. Look I’m sorry I-“

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. You don’t even need to explain if you don’t want to. I said you were always welcome here and I meant it.”

“Thanks.” Clint tossed the remote onto the cushions next to Phil, then picked up the water and drained half the bottle in a series of gulps. “I, uh, can’t cook in my quarters on base, and the microwaved kind doesn’t taste right. It’s not the same as the stuff we had when I was a kid.” He waved a forkful of orange pasta at Phil.

Phil nodded his understanding. Clint had unfolded a little and looked more relaxed.

“From my perch, I could see into an apartment across the road. It was empty, I mean there were no people in it, just, you know, regular furniture and stuff. Except…” Clint trailed off, looking into his bowl.

“Clint, you don’t have to tell me. I mean that. You can if you want, but only if you want to. And you can stay here for as long as you need to, or want to. Because you’re my friend.” 

Clint looked up at that, with eyes that held pain but also relief and hope. “You really mean that, don’t you. You’ll let me crash your place and occupy your sofa without even knowing why.”

“Yes,” Phil said simply.

“Thanks,” Clint said, finally smiling a little as he put the empty bowl down on the coffee table. 

“Any time,” said Phil. “Any time.”


	29. Fire Escape With Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I asked for a prompt in the format "a colour, an object, a plant or animal, and one other word" and got: blue, garbage can, ginger cat, conversation

Clint was crouched on a fire escape, waiting for his target. He was watching the mouth of an alley, but every few seconds he’d glance down at a garbage can under his perch where a ginger cat was crouched, ready to pounce. New York rats were quick, and fierce, so this cat was going to have to be quicker if she wanted a meal. Clint knew it was a ‘she’ because he’d caught a glance of her belly, and could see that she’d been feeding kittens, or maybe still was.

“Nice one,” he said as the cat pounced and snapped the neck of the small rat she’d just caught with a shake of her head.

“What was that, Barton?” Phil asked over the comms.

“Oh, nothing, sorry. Just a cat under my perch, caught a rat,” Clint said. Phil, thankfully, didn’t reprimand him for not watching for the mark. Maybe Phil really did trust him to be able to do his job properly, like he claimed to.

“Blue Buick sedan coming from the north. Plates match our information,” Phil’s voice was crisp and businesslike. Clint tried not to think about how comforting it was to have that voice in his ear on a mission. When Phil was his handler, he always felt more comfortable. More secure.

“Roger.” Clint raised his rifle to his shoulder as the car turned into the alley, then stopped. Clint waited. Nothing happened.

“He’s not getting out of the car,” Clint said. “I could go down to the ground, if you want.”

“Negative. Can you see what he’s doing? Are you sure it’s our guy?”

“Looks like he’s on the phone, having a conversation with someone. And yeah, it’s him.”

“How sure are you of the identification?”

Clint tried not to be annoyed at the question. Not everyone had his eyesight, and to be fair, without the fancy polarized sunglasses he was wearing, the glare of the car’s windshield would have made a positive ID impossible. “I’m 100% positive, Boss.”

“Take the shot at your discretion, Barton.”

“Roger.”

Clint glanced down quickly, just to check on the cat. All he could see was her tail, curling out from behind an overflowing dumpster. He looked back at the mark, who was still on the phone. Clint lined up his shot and pulled the trigger. The silenced rifle kicked his shoulder. The mark’s head snapped back against the headrest and his phone slipped out of lifeless fingers.

“Mark’s down, Coulson,” Clint said, and broke down and stowed his rifle.

“Roger. Clean up crew is rolling.” Ninety seconds later a white van parked across the mouth of the alley and a trio of SHIELD agents disguised as laundry service workers got out. Clint climbed down from the fire escape and stood next to the dumpster. The cat’s tail had disappeared, but now he could see one tiny paw next to one of the dumpster’s wheels.

A black sedan pulled into the alley from the other direction and Phil Coulson, immaculately dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and navy-and-black striped tie, got out. Clint didn’t move.

“Ready to leave, Barton?”

“I don’t suppose you would know when the trash gets collected around here,” Clint said, still staring down at the dumpster.

“I could find out, why?”

“There’s a momma cat under there, with kittens,” Clint said.

Phil was tapping on his phone. “These bins get picked up tomorrow morning. But we have to go now, Agent,” he said softly. Clint glanced up. The clean up crew had finished packing the mark’s body into the van.

“Yeah.” Clint followed Coulson back to his car and was quiet all the way back to SHIELD.

That night, when Clint crept into the alley with a can of tuna, he found Phil already there. He had a cat carrier with a blanket in it, and an open can of fancy cat food.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [Jo Mathieson](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


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